Cold
by Fig-Fic
Summary: Solving cases had been going great for Sherlock, then something terrible happens and John is left to mourn - again. After having left some things at the apartment, John goes over but something else happens. One shot, can claim it as Johnlock.


_**Cold**_

It had been case after another - it seemed like Sherlock was on a roll and didn't wanted to stop any time soon. However, it had come to a stop. It was only recently when the blood coated stone had finally lost its crimson edge. And also when the police had stopped people accessing the area; Lestrade couldn't hold them off for much longer. But, it was a time when dust hadn't been able to settle down yet.

John looked over the apartment, his eyes looked raw - possible from the mourning of his friend - as he took a seat beside the spray painted smile; like always, it disturbed him. Allowing the air to soak his lungs he looked at the shattered window that still had to replace, know that the police had finished up. licking his dry lips he stood up and took a step beside the window, ignoring the stained wooden boards that were the last traces of Sherlock; know that the scene outside had been cleaned so that no one would be disturbed.

Muscles began to scream, John frowned as he grabbed his leg - the limp that had somewhat disappeared started to show again. Placing a hand against the wall to steady himself he could clearly see the hard stone outside that had made acquaintances with Sherlock. Wheezing he sat back down as he rubbed his forehead to dismiss the headache._ It was lonely_. No dismembered body parts in the fridge, no deductions and no wrong speeches or the small laughs they would have know and again - it was all gone. A sting hit his eyes as he felt tears fall down again, wiping them away he took a deep sign as he stood up knowing that he had rested enough. Taking a corner glance at the ruined area he left, walking upstairs so that he could collect the few things he had left.

A strange aura filled the room; _cold, musky and evil_. _What could that be about?_Ignoring the thought, John pulled a box out that he had left previously, as he walked about collecting the minor products that still held a lot of meaning to his heart. Stopping, he felt his hand touch a smooth cold metal, confused, he pulled it out. Pain. That's all he felt as his eyes focused on the cold metal - his gun. He could feel something Clenching his heart - _Guilt, sadness_. Breathing sharply as he place the gun on the desk, holding his head down as he body loomed over it.

"_Sherlock, I'm so, so very sorry._"

Tears attacked his eyes once again, his vision blurring as his body began to shake against the emotions that were trapped in his heart. John couldn't control them, he just couldn't. **He killed Sherlock.** _How was someone suppose to get over a murder? And at that, your best friend to?_ Johns voice lapped into hiccups as the tears became uncontrollable. The limp came back, throwing his body to the floor. Doing small breathing exercises he was able to gain control of his actions, as he steadily stood up -taking a quick glance at the stained,cold gun - gritting his teeth he grabbed it and threw it into the box, obviously knowing it wouldn't go off - their were no bullets, especially when all had been used already.

It had taken him a few minutes to regain himself and to also finish with packing the last of his things, picking it up he retreated to the door as he looked round one last time. Frowning he left, enjoying the sound of the creaking stairs one last time. **_Creeeek_****.** John stopped. _**Creeek.**_ This creek didn't belong to the stairs, especially as he couldn't see anyone coming up and especially if he had stopped walking. Questioning it he placed the box down ,carefully, as he walked over to the sound. _**Creeek.**_ It brought him to the door to the main apartment and without thinking it through he ran in, as if with hope that it was Sherlock. However, no one was their. Raising a eyebrow he walked around, then he found himself back to the window. Allowing the soft wind to touch his skin he peeked out, it was only ordinary passer bys - well, the ones who dared to walk down the street after the incident. Biting his lip he stood back up. _**Creeek.**_ John's body lightly jolted, he then froze. _Who, what, was doing that?_ Standing their he felt the rooms temperature drop, the next thing he knew it went black splodges were left in his vision until the black surrounded him._ It was very cold indeed…_

_"I'm sorry, John."_


End file.
